All in the Family
by scarlet79
Summary: Everyone finds out just how much of his father Michael's inherited. It's up to them to help Michael overcome this, and to show him how strong he really is.


_AN: Hey, all! So, this is one of my first Burn Notice fics. No specific set time, except that Jesse has joined the group._

_Just a warning, though, this is gonna get pretty dark. So if that's not your thing, well, you probably shouldn't read it._

* * *

><p>All in the Family<p>

A Burn Notice Fic

By: Scarlet79

Chapter 1

* * *

><p>Mike, Fiona, Jesse and Sam all sat at Maddie Westen's kitchen table, a tall glass of iced tea set in front of each of them. Maddie herself leaned against the kitchen counter, a cigarette dangling characteristically between her fingers, the smoke circling toward the ceiling. She was dressed in a light orange shirt and white Capri pants, looking quite cool despite the 95-degree heat outside.<p>

"I just don't see another way to do this, Mike," Sam said, pushing the set of blueprints he'd been studying toward the younger man. "If I'm reading this right, it's gonna be a four-man job, no matter how you look at it."

Fiona shot him a look, and he grinned apologetically. "Okay, a three-man-and-a-woman job."

She nodded in satisfaction, taking a sip of her tea. As she set the glass down, she glanced at the prints. "It might take a lot of manpower to pull it off," she told Mike then, "but once we all get in, it should be a piece of cake."

She tapped a painted fingernail on an X drawn on the paper. "Look, there won't even be a guard down here. And there'll be only two men on the other side."

Michael Westen shook his head. "No way, Fi. Too risky." At her argumentative glare, he held up a finger at her. "There's no way I'm putting you in with your ankle the way it is. You can sit this one out, let me, Sam and Jesse handle it."

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat. If Maddie didn't know better, she'd say he was squirming.

"Uh, Mike," he said, "did you not hear me? There's no chance of making this work without Fiona. We need her."

"Yeah," Jesse chimed in, resting his forearms on the table. "Besides, she thinks she can handle her end, and I know better than to argue with her."

"But obviously, not with _me_," Mike ground out, shoving his chair back and getting up to pace back and forth, his mind turning. "If one little detail in this plan is off, if one of the guards decides to take a detour on his rounds, things could take a very bad turn." He looked at Fiona. "Your ankle's twisted pretty bad, Fi. You won't be able to run fast if you need to, and that could get you caught. Or worse, killed."

"I'll be fine, Michael," she insisted. "Please, let me help."

Feeling outnumbered, and against his better judgment, he finally nodded. "Okay. But if this all goes south, just remember who the voice of reason was here."

* * *

><p>Mike followed Fiona into his mother's house, slamming the door behind him. Sitting at the counter, reading, Maddie jumped at the noise, nearly dropping her cigarette in the sink.<p>

"Michael?" She asked, but he ignored her.

His eyes so dark they looked black, he glared angrily down at Fiona. "When in the _hell_ are you ever going to listen to me?" He shouted at her.

"I already told you, Michael, I'm fine!" She shouted back, her hands on her slender hips.

"What happened?" Madeline asked as she crushed out her cigarette and stepped around the counter.

Fiona sighed and explained. "That thing Michael was worried about?" Maddie nodded. "Well, it happened. A guard showed up as I was setting the charge, and started shooting at me." She glared back at Mike. "But, I got away."

"Yeah, barely!" He exclaimed. "He missed your head by less than an inch!"

She scoffed, and Maddie saw her son's jaw clench so hard that it made _her_ wince in pain.

"Please," Fiona said with a wave of her hand. "I've been in worse spots." She turned to walk away from him, to rest her throbbing ankle, but he grabbed her arm, roughly pulling her back to face him. A sick feeling settled in Maddie's gut then, her mouth suddenly so dry that her tongue stuck to the roof.

"Don't," he growled, his voice low, "you _dare_ walk away from me."

"Michael," Maddie tried again, though her hands shook uncontrollably. Still, he ignored her. If she hadn't been so scared, her feelings might've been hurt.

"I'm leaving," Fiona told him, grabbing her purse from the couch, where she'd flung it earlier. "I'll come back when you calm down."

The one thing Madeline Westen feared most, the only thing she begged God each night to never let happen, happened then.

Mike – Michael, her son, her boy – backhanded Fiona, the force knocking her down to the floor.

"The hell you are!" He bellowed over her. He was about to reach out, to hit her again, when a loud voice made him freeze, his hand still raised in the air.

"_Mi_chael _Wes_ten!"

Just two words – his name – was all it took. Mike looked down and saw Fiona sitting there at his feet, her hand pressed to her face and tears in her eyes. Glancing up, he saw his mother standing nearby, a look of sheer horror on her face, and he realized then that it was because of him.

"Oh, God." The only two words he could manage. Then, with guilt written all over himself – his eyes, especially – he spun on his heel and bolted from the house, leaving the two most important women in his life behind.

* * *

><p>The gun was cold in his hand. Familiar, almost comforting, its black surface curved along his palm, his pointer finger naturally sliding against the trigger. Turning his hand over, he could see the safety was still on, the small bit of orange glowing out at him like a warning sign. With a flick of his thumb, he turned the safety off, almost sighing at the soft click it made.<p>

He laid the hand with the gun in his lap, taking a moment to glance out at the ocean surf. The waves were higher today, having gained their size from the storm that had rolled through Miami a few days ago, and when they crashed onto the shore, the spray that resulted shot five feet in the air.

He had seen this same sea when it was calm, the waves gently lapping at the sand, and though it all looked peaceful, harmless, anyone who had a sandcastle knocked down by its surf knew that it was also destructive at its best, and downright chaotic at its worst.

_Just like me_, he thought, gazing down again at the gun in his hand. _Everything I touch gets destroyed._

"Tell me you're not gonna ruin that suit."

He stayed where he was, not even turning his head as Sam Axe strolled up behind him.

"It's your best one," Sam continued.

"Go away, Sam," Mike muttered, desperately wishing the man would just disappear, even if that meant vanishing into thin air like a fairy. If he'd been in a better mood, Mike might have smiled at the thought.

"Can't do that, Mike," Sam replied, not waiting for an invitation before plopping himself onto the sand beside his friend.

"Why not?"

Sam shrugged. "The girls were worried about ya, wanted me to bring you back."

At this, Mike barked a laugh, and Sam nervously eyed the gun in Mike's lap, though he said nothing. He had to time this just right, had to watch Mike for the cues as to what would happen next, so that he could plan accordingly.

"I can't go back," Mike said, staring out at the setting sun, noticing how its rays turned the sea first to fire, then, as it sank further beyond the horizon, to blood. It was rather fitting, he decided then. It closely resembled his rage – hot like fire, followed by so much pain, so many open wounds. Wounds that he feared would never heal.

Sam watched Mike closely, knowing how terrible his friend must feel. He'd come running up the sidewalk when he saw Mike's car peal out of the driveway, instantly knowing something bad had happened. Just how bad, well, he wouldn't find that out until he rushed into Maddie's house, until he saw the reddish-purple mark on Fiona's cheek. Maddie had been beside herself, shaking too badly to even light a cigarette, pacing back and forth in front of the kitchen sink. As soon as she'd seen Sam, however, she'd rushed toward him, and he caught her in his arms, worriedly asking what was wrong.

Her voice breaking, tears threatening to choke her, she had told him, and then told him how worried she was that Mike would do something to hurt himself. And so, Sam had agreed to go after her son, promising her that he wouldn't let anything happen to him.

Now, as he sat here, he could almost feel the self-loathing pour from Mike's entire being. In all the years he'd known the spy, Sam had never seen him like this, so upset and depressed over something he'd done. It wasn't in the spy code – and so not in Mike's nature. Mike had always been the first one to explain that in the spy business, you couldn't give yourself time to feel sorry for what you had to do. You just moved on.

"Mike," he began, but stopped when Mike fixed his dark eyes on him.

"I lost my temper and _hit_ her, Sam! Fiona!…I knocked her down, and I would've hurt her worse if my mom hadn't stopped me!"

Sam was careful as he said, "I know. But she _did_ stop you, and we all know you didn't mean it."

"But I _did_ mean it," Mike replied, his voice even, toneless. "She said she was leaving, and I was ready to do anything to stop her. Even if I killed her." As he turned back to the sunset, he quietly added, "I liked how it felt when I hurt her."

"Maybe right then, at the time. But how do you feel now, Mike? You still wanna hurt her?"

Mike shook his head.

"What about your mom? You wanna hurt _her_?"

"No."

"Alright, then. Whaddya say you give me the gun, 'eh Mike?"

Another shake of Mike's dark head. "No."

"Why not?"

Suddenly, Mike turned to face him, and Sam again found himself worrying about the gun. He knew the safety was off – he could see it from where he sat – and if Mike's finger just happened to twitch…

"I have to end it now, Sam. Don't you understand? I'm trying to protect them from him. From me!"

Finally understanding, Sam nodded slowly. Holding his hands up to show that he wasn't a threat, he said, "Okay. I get it. You're afraid that you're becoming like your father."

"Not only like him. I'm turning _into_ him. It's like he's alive again, taking over my body. And the worst part is, I'm letting him."

Mike lifted the gun and pressed the muzzle against his temple.

"I can't let him live. It's not fair."

* * *

><p><em>TBC...<em>


End file.
